redwallfanfictionfandomcom-20200214-history
User blog:Incisrongirl/Marianne and the Song of Redwall
Chapter 1: Prologue Prologue Grey-black had clouded Mossflower's skies, and everywhere, treetops were performing a madly festive dance - swaying to and fro, tossing branches, now and again bracing themselves against the crash of the rain, scattering leaves all around. There was nothing that Salome dreaded more than a nighttime excursion into the Woods, alone, when it was storming. Against the surrounding forest, the ferretmaid was a tiny figure -swathed in her brother's cloak, which now clung, rain-sodden, to her fur; the water-pail tucked beneath one arm. Every whipcrack of lightning goaded her to haste, and she splashed on recklessky, complaining all the while, as if her voice could be heard above the rain's leaf-battering music. "Huh - sunny one moment, pourin' rsin the next. Hellgates - I can't wait till autumn! Took the devil-blasted shawl 'cos Samuel said it was chilly, but was too big of an oaf to think of bringin' a lantern, in case it started up storming. Now I might as well be blind out here!" Even as she spoke, the cloak's hood, overlarge as it was, fell before her eyes, and, after stumbling sightlessly for a few moments, she landed into a sizable puddle of mudwater. It was with difficulty that she managed to haul herself upright, spitting bits of mud and sodden leaf between coughs. Having recovered from her fall, Salome ruefullyvexamined the front of the cloak - the black-dyed fabric had been soaked through, and she doubted that any amount of scrubbing and wringing would removr the filth. She knew that, if not for the chill, Samuel would never hsve entrusted it to her, seeing as she had ruined her own cloak not long before. But, at the very least, her railings against Mother Nature's mood swings hadbeen silenced. Salome stooped to retrieve the pail - now empty - and swore silently. She had trudged through this downpour for nearly a half hour - had come close to catching pneumonia - for this! "Well, I ain't sloshing all the way back to that stream!" she decided aloud. "I'll just fill the the thing with rainwater - tastes awful, but haply Samuel wont notice anything." "Aye, its likely yore right there, missie. I wouldnt notice a thing!" A lightning bolt, at its best, could never have frightened Salome as badly as the sound of that voice did. This weasel's face might have been mistaken for a mask - a mask that was decorated, it could be said, with ink-black bumps and purple-edged bruises. The whiskers were grey with filth; beneath them, rows of jagged, cheese-colored teeth formed a grinning zipper. "Aye, I dont suppose I'd notice a thing if I was in yore big brother's place, missie." Each word sent a gust of hot, damp, foul-smelling breath into Salome's face. "After all, there was days I was so weak I'd thank my lucky stars if I could make it to the barrel the rainwater dripped into. Nearly perished of thirst, I did. But you and yore brother couldnt've known about that - ye'd never allow an old friend to suffer if ye could 'elp it, now would ye? " His paw shot out, before Salome could flinch, and caught her by the scruff. Now Salome dared not move, for the cloak's collar was closing in, yoke-like, about her throat. "Whats the matter, me lovely? Don't favor me mug, do ye?" Her silence only seemed to give him even greater amusement; he sniggered delightedly. "Now, now, dont ye worry, me darlin', ye ain't th' first one. Most every beast as ever laid eyes on me was struck with dread- 'specially by these 'ere bumps. Black ugly things, aint they?" Now, his free paw shot out, just as suddenly as the first paw had, to anchor itself - claw-first - into Salome's shoulder. Salome screamed. 'Aye – an' ye would've 'ad the same as meself and me fine cronies if'n ye'd stayed. Oh, I knows who ye are – the pretty little wench who reckoned as she was too good to stay be'ind and die with th' rest o' us. Now that ain't a nice way t' think, is it?" Having enjoyed the sight of the young ferret maid, shrieking and writhing like a tormented insect, the weasel seemed to decide that he had had enough of this game. When his claws unhooked themselves from her shoulder, it must have resembled a sheet of stapled paper. Blood might have filled those holes, but missiles of rain were battering her shoulder. By rights, Salome ought to have been in agony. But she could pay no more mind to a wounded shoulder, while a dagger was hovering inches from her throat. The weasel chuckled again "Now, should I stab ye quick-like, or should I gag ye with this 'ere belt and make yore death slow for ye, eh? Then again, missie, ye couldnt tell me yore big brother's whereabouts with a gag across yore mouth, could you? Course, if ye spill it t' me quick enough, I'll consider endin' you just as quick!" His lips parted, as if he was about to laugh at his own cleverness. After a few moments, however, his jaw slackened -hung open, allowing a river of clotted blood and saliva to gush forth. Before Salome realized it, she was being hauled upright. She made a few shaky, staggering efforts, and, at last, managed to stand. The weasel lay in the mud, lifeless, soaking up the rain like a sponge. Samuel stood near his head, holding his dagger so that the rain could rinse the blood from his blade. When it was clean, he returned it to its sheath. He spoke through gritted teeth. "Come on, Salome! Never mind the God-blasted water." Chapter 2: Chapter 1 Inside of the log den, Salome retired to the back, where the embers of the neglected fire were still giving out some warmth. When her paws regained their steadiness, she peeled the cloak from her fur; it fell in a crumpled heap about her feet. Rainwater, mud, and a bellyful of blood had ensured that neither the cloak, nor its fabric, would ever again be of use to any beast. As Salome tried to toast some feeling into her cold-stiffened paws, Samuel came over to stand beside her. Without warning, he lashed out and cuffed her hard across the ears. "Hellgates, Salome! 'ow in Satan's name did you manage to get lost goin' out for water? What's the matter with you?" Salome lifted a paw to massage her smarting ear, all the while fighting back tears. "Well, I didn't go to do it . . ." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Samuel, suddenly mollified, reached over and placed his paw upon her shoulder. "Look, Salome, I know you didn't go t' do it. No creature with right good sense would go to do it. Goin' off to find a stream, fetchin' the water, an' then bumbling about till yore lost - that's somethin' an oaf would do. And you landed up in the paws of a crazybeast!" He watched as Salome stooped over the fire's embers, pretending to fan them. And it was just as well that she did -Samuel didn't want to see those tears any more than he enjoyed staring at the blood spatterings on his cloak. Where in all Mossflower had that scrawny, sniggering misfortune of a creature come from? Certainly, he had been some species of vermin - though it had fallen face forward into the mud after it had been knifed, Samuel had taken a glance at the ears and tail. The creature might have been a ferret or a weasel. For seasons now, this stretch of the Woods had been almost uninhabited. But now, for the second time in their lives, Samuel and Salome would be forced to evacuate. About seven seasons ago, Samuel, nothing but a youngster, and Salome had evacuated for the first time - had escaped the settlement at night, when even the most fretful, restless creatures had succumbed to sleep. They had left behind scores of creatures, perishing of the Black Death; the corpses of rats, whose lives the Chief himself had taken when the plague's outbreak had been discovered; the emaciated remains of the creatures who were too badly weakened, too young and bewildered, or too afraid, to make an attempt at flight and risk being caught. The privacy of the settlement had been, to the Chief and his officials, what this spot's privacy, its stream and its fruit trees were to Samuel - only even more so. Samuel crept to the other side of the den - quietly, so as not to wake Salome, who lay slumbering beside the fire. The little ninny could find time to sleep if the world had just come to an end, I wager! Samuel found and began rummaging through a heap of belongings. It was a meager pile, and, after just a few moments, he drew out a slender stick, about which a scroll of papyrus had been rolled up and fastened. With a half-smile, he remembered the old dormouse who had sold the map to him - just days after his and Salome's arrival into Mossflower. Samuel had given the old ninny a silver brooch in exchange for food supplies, had received the map as a bonus, and, to compensate him for the bonus, had listened while he had slavered on about the virtues of Redwall Abbeydwellers - their kindheartedness, the generosity they extended to any needy creature who should come grovelling at their feet; the honey-sweet sermons that dripped from the lips of their wise, benevolent, hoary-headed old Abbots and Abbesses; the heavenly food, and, greatest of all, the aura of peace and contentment that perfumed every idyllic, red sandstone corner. Thinking of it,Samuel half-expected a mouse to drop from the sky and land before him, garbed in a green habit, and beaming angelically upon him, as he relieved the young ferret of his dagger and proceeded to lecture him on how violent and unpeaceable it had been to snuff the weasel / ferret attacker out with it. Aye - Redwall Abbey was quite the utopia - until some Cluny the Scourge or some Raga Bol stormed his way in through the gates, as villains were forever doing there. Then , most likely, all of the Redwallers ran whimpering for help - usually demanding the bravery of some warlike creature, such as Martin. Martin son of Luke! – now that was a creature who had known his business. Woodlanders were constantly bawling songs all over the Woods about him. He had fought and worked and thought his way out of trouble when it had been necessary, instead of sitting on the ground with a spearpoint at his throat, singing about peace and pear flans. From what Samuel had heard, a few of those thickheaded woodlander youngsters had taken a lesson from him, and had grown to serve the Abbey as warriors. And if they were not too daft to learn good sense - well, then, there was hope for little Salome after all . Samuel crept over to where Salome lay. Stooping over her gently shook her to wakefulness. "C'mon, Salome, get up. That drizzle's almost stopped. You might as well take that jar outside and fill it up with rainwater -on second thought, I'll do it myself." Salome sat upright, still bleary-eyed, and thoroughly put out. "Aww, Samuel! You always bawl at me for doin' things that don't make no sense, but you just woke me to tell me to fetch some rainwater, then spun about and decided to fetch it yoreself! I was 'avin' a nice dream." Samuel was already heading for the doorway, jar in paw. "Well, you won't 'ave to worry about lyin' back down now. Th' water's for you to scrub yoreself with. And dont go whingin' about how cold it is, I've no time to stand about heatin' it. When yore finished, change out of that hand-me-down tunic - yore pinafore's as raggedy as an old dishcloth, but it's likely it'll look a bit more presentable to the woodlanders." Salome stared, bewildered, at the jar of washing water. "Woodlanders? What woodlanders? " ' We're goin' to Redwall Abbey," Samuel informed her brusquely. "Well, don't just sit there with yore mouth hangin' open. 'Urry up, wash yoreself an' leave me some of that water." Chapter 3: Chapter 2 Author's Note: Thanks so much for all of your kind comments.I know I'm not a perfect writer, but having people like my work and take the time to comment really makes me feel special! :D Remember that I appreciate any criticism you may have, and if you flame me, I will try to understand your point of view, unless it's just a crazy string of insults and swear words. *hugs everyone* All about Redwall, spring's delicate bloom had ripened to the lush green and sun-gold of summertime. Noon's sun had baked those great red sandstone walls until they had taken on a hue of scarlet; and now the Abbey, perched high upon its hill, seemed sedate as an autumn leaf against all of the greenery. Abbess Elinor, a mouse in her middle seasons, and Sister Bethelle, the elderly quirrel Infirmary Keeper, stood together in the lawn, sunning themselves. It might be said that the two were close friends - though they were not inseparable, one would seldom find either of them socializing freely with another creature. "Brother Aaron has fully recovered from his brandy binge, Mother Abbess," Sister Bethelle said. "That hedgehog has been drinking for seasons now, but he has managed to keep the Abbey from knowing of it. Perhaps it was his own good fortune that he made himself ill this time. The Abbey hasn't had a drunkard in its Cellars since the days of Ambrose Spike!" The Abbess nodded her agreement. "But Friar Jerome must have known of it - he enters the Cellars for beverages. Doubtless he wished to prevent his brother from being disgraced, and, as though I am deeply dissppointed in our Cellarkeeper, I will honor the Friar's wishes. But, directly after lunchtime, I will approach him privately and give him the responsibility of the Cellars until further notice!" "Speaking of which, Mother Abbess - the sun is at its peak now. It's past time for lunch to be announced!" By straining her eyes, Abbess Elinor caught sight of the aproned, brushtailed figure, making its way across the lawn. "There she is, coming now. Look at that young maid - she's so plump that she is puffing for breath at each step. That's the trouble with the creatures of this Abbey these days, shovelling down great mountains of food and getting far too little exercise!" Marianne, the assistant cook of the Abbey, drew near. She was, indeed, a rather chubby young squirrelmaid, with large, jovial brown eyes. Setting a tray before the Abbess, she curtsied. "Afternoon, Mother Abbess, Sister Bethelle. Friar Jerome didn't wish t' disturb you by askin' you to come t' the table, Mother Abbess, as you were enjoyin& the sun, so he sent me with food for both of you." The Abbess cast a glance over the contents of the tray. She sniffed with disapproval. "Apple turnovers, blackberry tartlets, raspberry jam scones and summer fruit salad. All that for afternoon tea! - and after a breakfast of oat porridge, honey scones, oat cake and apple and pear salad. We'll soon have a load of great fatbeasts scurrying about this Abbey! Now, young maid, take this tray back to the kitchens straightaway, and tell the Friar to have lunchtime formally announced, as it should be. Then ask all of the Abbey creatures to wait until I attend and say the grace, instead of rushing to cram themselves!" "Aye, marm." As Marianne prepared to take up the tray once more, she hesitated. "Before I go, Mother Abbess . .. well, I was thinkin' the Dibbuns might like to play outside for a bit. Mightn't I bring them out for a little picnic on the lawn?" The Abbess stared at her for one long, frosty moment, before replying. "I hope, Miss Marianne, that you have not forgotten Sister Jane's duties as Abbey Recorder and teacher of Abbeyschool. You will have to ask her permission before you take the liberty of dragging these Dibbuns off on frivolous outings, to ensure that they do not interfere with her schedule!" While Friar Jerome busied himself with formally summoning the Abbeybeasts and seeing that every partly-eaten dish was abandoned immediately, in order to avoid a face-to-face chastisement from the Abbess, Marianne found Sister Jane in her library. Though the mouse Sister had held that position for as far back as Marianne could remember, she could not have been past thirty-five seasons. Raising her eyes from the tome that she had been poring through, Sister Jane greeted Marianne with a smile. "Good afternoon to you, Marianne. It is a pleasure to see you -since you left Abbeyschool to assist Friar Jerome, I've seen very little of you." Marianne offered her a contrite smile. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Sister Jane, marm. Work in th' kitchens 'as turned out t' be far 'arder than I figured it would." "There's no need to apologize - every creature in the Abbey has his or her own duties." Sister Jane laid the tome aside. "What brings you here, Marianne?" As Marianne made her picnic request, she could not help but to allow her eyes to roam over the walls - lined with book- and scroll-stacked shelves. Maianne had always been more of an industruous young creatue, not the most studious one, and she had always hated the crowded, oppressive atmosphere of the Abbeyschool room. But the library was spacious, the air was cool as a garden's, and, sitting high upon a bookshelf, framed in cherriwood, was the Portrait of the Season: the Rose of Redwall, pale as snow, coated with bits of dew. The sound of shuffling papers brought Marianne back to earth. She colored a little, for stifled amusement was fighting to un-stifle itself at the corners of Sister Jane's mouth. "I was saying that you may take the Dibbuns out onto the lawn, so long as they are back inside within the hour - but for a moment I feared you were no longer with us. Gazing at the picture, you looked delighted enough to have sampled a spoonful of Heaven." Abruptly, Marianne straightened up, remembering the day's duties. "I hardly know about 'eaven, marm, but I'll get a taste of somethin' unfit to say if th' Mother Abbess comes into Cavern Hole and doesn't see me there. Thank you!" But, as she hurried out of the chamber, she laughed to herself. Sampled a spoonful of Heaven - who knew? Cavern Hole was packed with creatures - mice, moles, squirrels and hedgehogs. Abbess presided over the table, seated between Johndam, Skipper of Otters, and Sister Bethelle. The hedgehog Cellarkeeper, Brother Aaron, sat at the far end of the table, ashen-faced, but sober. All was silent as the Abbess recited the grace . "Praise is to God Who has given us this food, providing it to us without any help or power from ourselves." She proceeded with a lecture on how Almighty God had sent food to earth, and how, seeing as the good creatures did not have the power to defend their walls from enemies without resorting to Skipper Johndam and Log-a-Log (she felt that gluttony and fatness accounted for this), they should praise God, Who Alone possessed the power to create so much as a grain of wheat. By the time that she had ended, few of the Redwallers had the courage to do much more than pick over the good fare. So Friar Jerome and Marianne were only too glad to excuse themselves from the table, at last, and escort the Dibbuns out onto the lawn. No sooner had those little creatures emerged into the sunlight, than a noisy, frolicsome baby rapture overtook the lawn. Abbeybabes scattered all about - chasing one another, holding food fights, shriking and laughing. The Friar Jerome sat beside a shrub, caressing his head. To Marianne, he remarked, "And th' Sister said these villains could stay out for an hour? Good Lord - I'll be lyin' in the Infirmary before then!" Watching a little molemaid who was trying - in vain - to capture a butterfly, Marianne began to sing a verse that she had loved as a Dibbun . "A butterfly in spring A golden-winged queen Who seldom idle perches on a flower "To caterpillars green Sweet pollen-food she brings In morn and evening hours "Though she drifts gracefully A butterfly, you see Is busier than any other - "Far more than you or me Or the lazy droning-bee All fat and yellow as butter!" To Samuel and Salome, clambering up over the path that led to the Abbey gates, the happy commotion was faintly audible. Salome knew that Samuel would not want her to stand about gawking - but this colossal sandstone building dwarfed any that she had ever seen before. As if he had read her thoughts, Samuel gently flicked her ear and whispered, "Don't come and start actin' a fool, Salome! This 'ere's an Abbey - a missionary place - not no rompin' grounds! Look, I think somebeast's comin' past the gates." Chapter 4: Chapter 3 I'm sorry, I had to update this chapter because I accidentally omitted a part and probably confused everyone :( Author's Note: Concerning the parts that briefly mention God, I originally wrote this when I was younger and didn't understnd that Redwall didn't mention a religion. I'm revising this on an IPad and I'm trying my best to improve it. I hope you all enjoy all the rest of the story and that it's not ruining Redwall for anyone. :( It was the Skipper - for he had heard the slamming of Samuel's stick against the gate, and was now approaching, armed with loaded sling, that he could see what was causing the racket. Upon sighting the two ferrets, Skipper slowed his step, until he was moving at a more deliberate pace. Drawing nearer, he removed his sling from his shoulder. His manner of addressing the newcomers was rather terse, to put it mildly. "Well, ye didn't come lambastin' our gates like that with no cause. Where've you come from, young 'uns, and wot do you want here? I ain't never seen no vermin about this part of the Woods 'till today." Samuel might have spoken with courtesy, but being referred to as a "young 'un" had set him to bristling. "Well, we're Mossflower born, sure enough - though we don't particularly make ourselves th' business of all in th' Woods. We live private, see!" When the Skipper's jaw tautened, Samuel began to regret seeking to appear "tough". "Live private, eh? Then wot exactly is yore business 'ere at Redwall?" Samuel made as if to reply, but the Abbess strode up from behind the Skipper. One glance at that austere-faced mouse informed Salome that she was an Abbess no one would dare to pick a fight with. Little wonder that Samuel had warned her to behave herself! The Abbess demanded, "What in all of Mossflower is going on here? Skipper, who are these two creatures?" Stepping forward, Samuel bowed formally - much to Salome's amusement, though she managed to keep a straight face. "Good afternoon to you, Miz Elinor. I'm Samuel, an' there's my sister, Salome." The Abbess returned the bow. "You must call me Mother Abbess, Master Samuel. Have you come to our Abbey seeking food, healing or shelter?" Glancing down at himself, Samuel figured that he and Salome did look bedraggled and beggarly - haply it would have been better to allow Salome to wear the hand-me-down tunic after all; at least it was still in one piece. "Aye, marm - I suppose you could say that." The Abbess folded her paws in a no-nonsense manner. "Skipper, open the gate!" Within moments, the ferret siblings were standing upon the Abbey lawn. Much to their chagrin, the Skipper was instructed to probe them for weapons. Samuel brought his dagger forth, and, after a bit of consideration, the Abbess gave him permission to carry it with him. She followed this with a lecture on using the blade only for self-defense and for the protection of others, and preached on about peace, kindness and never harming others. Salome would have dozed off, but Samuel kept her awake with sharp nudges. At last, Abbess Elinor assumed, quite correctly, that the guests were hungry, and she directed them to where Friar Jerome and Marianne were supervising the Dibbuns, who were all clustered around a picnic blanket. Most of the little creatures had ceased their activities, and were now gawking - as Dibbuns will - at the newcomers. "Seeing as the gluttonous, impatient creatures who are my Abbeybeasts began eating lunch before it could be announced, I fear there will be very little food left in Cavern Hole," the Abbess said "But I'm certain that Friar Jerome will prepare something for you. Afterwards, Maste Samuel, you may assist him in the kitchens. A good Redwaller must always be prepared to assist others. And you, Miz Salome, should ask the Friar to escort you to Sister Jane's library when you have finished eating." While the Friar was preparing to escort the ferrets to Cavern Hole, Marianne took charge of the staring Dibbuns up. "Come along, you lot - you've an extra half-hour to play outside, there's no need to waste it by bein' nosy!" Because the Abbess was present, the Dibbuns had no choice but to obey, with great reluctance. After downing a plate of food that was fit for a ducal house (I won't mention the contents of the plate for fear of annoying the Abbess) Salome found Sister Jane's library, as she had been instructed to. The young ferret-maid seated herself at an oaken table, the Abbess on one side of her, and Sister Jane on the other side. Sister Jane dusted off an old tome. "Salome, do you know who God is?" "'Course I know who God is!" she retorted, indignant. "I ain't so green." "That is good. Where is God?" Salome fidgeted in her seat. 'Well, I s'pose he's all th' way up there, watchin' over all of us, and writin' down who he's goin' t' send t' 'ellgates next. The Abbess stared severely across her spectacles. "'Tis only the bad creatures who go to Hellgates, young missy. If you behave yourself and follow the Abbey rules, perhaps you'll enter heaven. Do you understand?" "Aye, Mother Abbess marm." Aye, heaven. Heaven was the nice place where you danced and sang and had all the cake and plum pudding you wished. You drank wine, as well, but this wine didn't make you drunk, because God didn't want you to be drunk. You only got into heaven if you were good. Sister Jane opened the tome, slowly moving through the pages. 'Can you see God?" she addressed Salome. Salome pondered for a bit. "I s'pose I can't see him 'cos he's all th' way up there, but I allus fancied him as an old, wise sort of badger type with a long, grey beard . . ." The Abbess closed her eyes and took a deep breath, though Salome scarcely understood why. "Now, now, Mother Abbess." Sister Jane was a gentle creature, and she spoke placatingly. 'She's only a little maid. She doesn't know better. God, Salome soon learned, was no badger – or any type of creature. He was a – yoo-neek being. Salome had to ask Samuel about that "unique" word – she liked the sound of it. And it sounded pretty in Sister Jane's low, clear voice. "And you know who the devil is, don't you?" "I reckon that'd be Vulpuz, 'cos he's th' king o' Hellgates." The Abbess repeated the deep-breathing exercise. Sister Jane proceeded gently. "No, no, I mean the one who whispers to us and tells us to do bad things." Salome toyed with her claws. "Well, I don't s'pose I'd know who that'un is, only if I did, I'd give him th' ode of his life for th' trouble he's allus getting' me into." "We cannot blame our actions on the devil, Salome. He only tells us to do things – he doesn't force us to do them. If I told you to go and rob an old mousewife walking alone along the road, would you?" She continued fiddling with her claws. "Well . . . mayhap not, if'n you just told me to like that. 'Twouldn't look right t' me. But if'n you came up close an' whispered, 'Lookit that old widow, piddlin' along th' road like that! An' she all alone, too! She mustn't care much for her money. Lookit that pretty purse! a right fat one – full o' coins. That 'un's a richbeast! All you've got t' do is rush her, snatch it and run. There ain't any guards about t' stop you, and she oughter know better'n t' walk by herself on an unguarded street. She likely 'as lots more gold at 'ome, so she don't need it. Think of all th' mess you could buy!' – if it were like that, marm – if it were like that . . . I reckon I'd have a right 'ard time refusin'. At last, the Abbess set her book to th side. "I cannot tolerate this impudence any longer!" Chapter 5: Chapter 4 Author's Note: I'm going to proceed with this story, though I have a really bad feeling I've ruined it. And sorry about the corny song. It's my verse "The Softer Mists." Thus, Salome found herself in the kitchens - which might have been a pleasure, if not for the fact that she was clad in an overlarge smock, and standing over a mountainous heap of dishes. Friar Jerome passed her a dishcloth, foamy with lathered soap. "You'd best 'urry with those dishes, Miz Salome, before evening comes. Haply this will teach you not to be saucy." Salome made as if to protest - she wasn't to blame for admitting that she' wouldn't refuse a purse full of coins if an old mousewife didn't care for it enough to conceal it - but Samuel, working on the Friar's left, shot her a warning look. "Hellgates!" she thought. "Samuel ain't 'eard wot I've done to rub th' Mother Abbess th' wrong way, but if I don't put a lid on it, 'e'll be sure to bawl at me soon as we're out o' this kitchen! " So, all four of the creatures - Samuel, Salome, Friar Jerome and Marianne worked in silence. After a bit, however, Marianne began to sing. For Salome, who was just barely literate and had never learned to write anything, besides her own name, the verse was a bit prosey, but very pretty all the same. From the Northlands, from the Northlands, through the mists of colder lands Comes the son of Luke to green sunlit Mossflower And his austere, warlike heart the welcome smiles of gentle friends And the sunlight warm at our most needful hour. For the shadow, Kotir's shadow, flaunting slavery and death - Flaunting as its gems two ruthless emerald eyes Vows to darken, vows to smother Mossflower's own two brightest lights - Its sunshine, and the flame of bravery, which should never die. But in Martin's heart it will reside - it must reside forever! Come, hero! did it not defy the wind? The cold, frost-laden wind beneath which Laterose withered, perished - The Rose the warrior turned too Late from vengeance to defend. The Warrior stands, grief-goaded - he knows the chill of evil The flame of vengeance, love's sunshine, and bravery clash within But bravery and sunshine - they overcome the fire And we have no Warrior, but one God to praise for this good end. And leaving our green sunlit woods after he helped to free them Retires into the land of sunny slopes and quiet streams But still Luke's son looks over us through the softer mists of time - And oh! His smile is light enough to brighten all our dreams! "That's a lovely tune," Salome remarked softly, rinsing the last of the soapsuds from a tankard. " That part where th' flower withered up an' died - it sounded a bit silly, but sad at the same time." Marianne glanced up, as if startled at her speaking. Then she laughed aloud - breaking (much to the ferret siblings' relief) the silence in the room. "You ninny, Laterose o' Noonvale was a livin' creature!" Salome wrinkled her snout. "Laterose o' Noonvale? Who in 'ellgates would go about with that sort o' name?" "You mind yore language, missy," the hedgehog Friar rebuked her, but not fiercely. His eyes had a faraway look about them. "Laterose was the daughter of Urran Voh, leader o' Noonvale. 'Twas a pretty little place, not unlike our Abbey – quiet, peaceful an' 'appy." At this, Samuel made a little snorting sound, though Salome hardly knew why. The Friar went on as if he had not heard. 'Our Martin th' Warrior loved that mousemaid more'n anyone in th' world. She got her father t' let her go off with him while he was in a battle . . . an' she died in it." "An' I don't suppose her dear Martin was Warrior enough to look after her," Samuel grated, startling his sister. "Called 'imself brave - the lily-livered coward!" The Friar, snapped out of his reverie, turned upon him, puffing angrily like a fat, flustered old hogwife. You just watch yoreself, varmint. Our Martin wasn't no lily-livered coward. He looked after Miz Laterose as well as he could. 'Twas she wot decided to go dashin' out – brave an' reckless – with scarce any experience in war, and got killed. Now, seein' as yore finished with th' dishes, you can take down that set o' tin pots and polish 'em!" Samuel trudged unhappily off to his new task, grumbling something about free speech. There was no more mention of Laterose or Martin till dinnertime. Cavern Hole was filled with tablefuls of the famous Redwall fare, which I will not describe for fear of annoying the Abbess, who was still feeling a bit irritable. As usual, she said the grace, which Salome found pretty although she understood just aout half of it – it was all about thanking God and how God had given them the food and how they were powerless to bring food to themselves, so they should just shut up and be grateful instead of always complaining about the vegetables and herbs that didn't agree with them – or had that last been part of the sermon? Salome could scarcely tell. Afterwards, they were allowed to enjoy the food. The Dibbuns, however,were not enjoying it as much. Earlier, the Friar had approached the Abbess for permission to hold a summer feast, and had been sent away, hanging his head as if he was a chastened Dibbun himself. The Abbeybabes dared to give out a few whimpers, but the Skipper silenced them with one gruff bark. So, they quietly contented themselves with shoveling down oat cakes, barley porridge, nutbread and greensap milk, all the while trying not to notice the head-shaking and tut-tutting of the Abbess. When the meal had been finished, the Abbeybeasts rose and dispersed, as silently as they had entered. All youngsters older than five seasons were put to work tidying Cavern Hole, under Marianne's supervision. "No need t' empty th' platters an' pots out," Marianne told Salome, who was clearing leftovers from the tables. "Th' Friar'll lay out supper in a few hours - but that's mostly for the creatures who might've missed dinner. Any other beast who attends'll likely get a dirty look from Abbess Elinor." After this, the uneasy silence held sway once more, until the young maids headed for the kitchens, pushing food-laden trolleys before them. As they drew near the culinary quarters, however, they halted -for they caught the sound of voices being raised. It seemed that the Friar and his brother, Aaron, were having a fine squabble. "Aw, just give me one flask an' I'll keep t' strawberry cordial for th' rest of th' season, Jerome." It was Brother Aaron's voice - a high-pitched, piteous drawl, which sounded even more high-pitched as it rose onto a note of imploring. "I told ye a dozen times, that night I spent in the Infirmary's made a new creature out o' me. Listen, if you ever see me totterin' about drunk again, ye can declare me Outcast!" The Friar roared back, "Ye ought've been declared Outcast seasons ago! Let th' Abbess tell me yore leavin' this Abbey any day now - I'll dance a jig! 'C'mon, I'm a new creature,' ye say -you've been singin' that tune since th' day I caught ye sittin' about in th' Cellars, with a keg o' brandy an' a great big drinking ladle! Get out o' my sight, or I'll give ye a good reason t' return to th' Infirmary!" "Aye, an' I wouldn't be surprised if ye did it. So long as I'm in disgrace with th' Abbess, ye've got the Cellars all to yoreself, ye needle-hided, throne-'opping varmint! Stick t' wot ye know best -stumping about kitchens, sweatin' over pots an' pans, an' growin' fat!" "Stick t' wot I know best, eh? I'll give ye wot I know best! Ye spend all hours o' th' day gulpin' down th' food I toiled over an' now ye come sourin' up my kitchen air with th' stench o' yore breath - shoutin' about stickin' to wot I know best! If you know wot's best for you, ye shriveled-up, ale-watered weed, you'll tote yoreself out o' here, else I just might keep my word about the Infirmary! " The two young maids retreated to Cavern Hole - for now, even Salome had no desire to hear anymore. Marianne shook her head. "Good Lord - now even th' Friar's in a foul mood!" Later that evening, the guilty few who attended supper were not made to feel quite so guilty after all. As it turned out, Abbess Elinor had an announcement, for which she summoned all of the Abbeybeasts (excluding the Dibbuns). As the creatures seated themselves, anybeast who wished to could snatch a morsel or two from the supper platters, and this misdemeanor went unnoticed. Rising from her chair, the Abbess proclaimed, "Creatures of Redwall, I give you permission to prepare a summer feast!" None of the creatures who were present dared to cheer. But Salome felt as if she could perform a somersault. A feast! - a Redwall feast! Now, for that, Salome would gladly scrub cauldrons until her paws dropped off. It would be worth it all the way! She scarcely heard the Abbess's speech on how she would not have allowed this nonsensical frivolity at all, but for a certain Friar who had nagged her repeatedly about the subject, and who had behaved, in her opinion, like an antsy Dibbun. Naturally, the day's excitement had exhausted the young ferret-maid, andshe soon retired to the bedroom that she and Samuel had been given to share. She rambled a bit about the feast, and played with one of the great, soft, feather-stuffed headcushions - till a corner tore beneath her claws, scattering feathers everywhere. It was then that Samuel lost patience and asked her to lie down and go to sleep befire she wrecked the room. Within moments, Salom was fast aleep, head burrowed deep into the very pillow that she had torn. Sitting upon the edge of the bed, Samuel reached over and stroked her head. You'll soon be too old to sleep with yore big brother. In about a season, Salome would be the age that Luzi had been when she passed. And Luzi would have been a young adult creature, within a few seasons; but the death of her father - the only parent she had known, and one of the plague's earliest victims - had left her with a perpetual, child-like bewilderment in her eyes. Her intuition had belied those eyes, however, for she had seemed to sense that Samuel was planning to flee, with Salome, and only waited for the first opportunity. And she had sensed that he would urge her to flee with them. "Don't go now, Samuel," she would say, unexpectedly. "Don'ttry an' run off now. Wait for me." And, like a little fool, he had waited. Samuel uttered a mirthless laugh. Like the oaf he was, he had sat about, watching bump after ink-black bump appear beneath her fur, had watched her grow thin and haggard. How long had Samuel obeyed her and sat waiting, like a dimwitted dog waiting for its walk? Of course, till the day he had entered her den and found fleas forming hills over her corpse, and, beneath her headcushion, a scroll of papyrus that, upon being unfolded, read: Luzi, wrap the ring in this letter and leave it beside your cot for me. He'll have no need of it, sitting around here until he dies. Then, you must wait. Within days, I'll have found a safe place for us, and I'll send for you and take you out of this sick-pit. Signed, Jamar It was then that Samuel had remembered the weasel Jamar, who had vanishedsome days ago a,nd whom he had assumed was dead. He also remembered that the Chief had announced the disappearanc e of a ruby ring only weeks before; but, other than to wonder how a creature could make a broadcast of a ring while beasts were dying, he had thought little of it. Then Samuel had retreated to his and Salome's den, and, hours later, found a flea bite on his wrist. That was the night that they had fled. Samuel shifted the sleeping Salome, so that he could pull the edge of the blanket from beneath her. Huh, "don't go now - wait for me." If they had "waited" any longer, the only "safe place" they would have had was a cozy berth in Dark Forest. Author's Note: I'm sorry if this sounds angsty. Any suggestions for improvement are welcome. Revising is difficult and I can't promise I'll be able to follow the suggestions immediately, but I'll try to improve as soon as I can. rr Category:Blog posts Category:Incisrongirl Category:Fanfiction